stranger
by kardamon
Summary: For a moment, they were just standing quietly in the jungle. Then he took a few steps toward her and for the first time caught a better sight of her face. "Freckles?" he called softly, his voice taking on an unusual gentleness. "Are you crying?" (Post "Whatever the case may be")


**I'm posting it here, too, because - why not?**

 **Takes place right after "Whatever the case might be" (spoilers up to "What Kate did").**

 **Disclaimer: as if...**

* * *

He didn't mean to watch her, but his glance kept slipping back to her when he was sitting in his airplane seat and scanning his surroundings. It wasn't his fault, really – it was already after dark and she was sitting near the campfire, so it was only natural that his wandering gaze gravitated toward her. It appeared that she didn't have the case with her and she looked quite distraught, so he guessed that not everything went according to her plan, after all.

Good. Served her right for blatantly lying to him about not caring what was inside and then unleashing the doc on him to do her dirty work. You don't con a fellow conman, God dammit. Not if you don't want to start a war, and he had thought naively (something he was not) that she had not. Sure, bickering and some banter but…

His glance flickered back to the campfire.

 _Son of a bitch._

She wasn't there.

His eyes searched the beach quickly and he managed to catch just a glimpse of her at the edge of the forest when she was disappearing between the trees. Now, what the hell was she thinking, striding inside the jungle at this time of the night?

He was on his feet and following her before he could think better of it. She was moving fast, so it took him a while before he caught up with her, but luckily her angry steps were loud enough that even he could follow the trail without getting lost.

"Hey, Freckles! You all right?" he called after her when he finally could see her again ahead of him.

She looked back at him angrily and kept walking.

"Get away from me!"

He slowed down, but didn't stop.

"What's wrong?" he tried again.

She spun around, facing him.

"What's wrong?!" she erupted and he could just bet that had she been standing close enough, she would have jabbed her finger into his chest. "What's wrong? You're unbelievable! You wouldn't budge an inch when I wanted you to give me the case, though you _knew_ that whatever was inside belonged to me, but you gave it to _Jack_? Just like that? And you're asking me _what's wrong_? Tell me, what was it that you sold me out for?"

He stared at her completely caught by surprise.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly. "Are you saying that… _damn it._ " That _fucker_ , he thought. His shoulders slumped dejectedly. "You didn't send him to me, did you?"

Kate's eyes widened a fraction, clearly not expecting him to say that either.

"Forget it," she said closing her eyes. She rubbed her temples, suddenly feeling very tired.

"For a record, I didn't sell you out. He freaking blackmailed me."

That caught her attention. She looked up warily.

"Blackmailed you? How?"

"Told me a funny story about how my arm will fall off if he doesn't give me the meds, that kind of crap."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me that you bought that."

"Yeah, well, it's my arm. And I didn't think he was serious when he tied me to the tree and announced that me and the Iraqi torturer had a little chat scheduled either, so…"

For a moment, they were just standing quietly in the jungle. Then he took a few steps toward her and for the first time caught a better sight of her face.

"Freckles?" he called softly, his voice taking on an unusual gentleness. "Are you crying?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because she straightened up and backed away, instantly in defensive mode.

"Go away," she said sharply.

"What the hell _was_ in that case?"

"Leave me alone, Sawyer!"

"No can do, cheesecake. I ain't leaving you alone in the jungle of mystery in the middle of the night. You're upset and distracted, and hey, in case you forgot, rumor has it, that there is some kind of a monster on the loose out there!"

"Damn it, Sawyer! You just don't know when to quit, do you? Why do you care, anyway?"

He crossed his arms.

"I ain't going anywhere without you, sweetheart, so either you go back with me, or you suck it up and get used to my company."

She shot him an exasperated glare and then plopped heavily on the forest floor, suddenly completely drained of energy. He sat across from her, stubbornness radiating from every line of his body.

"Where did he get the key from, anyway?" he asked unrelentingly.

Kate exhaustively leaned her head back against the tree.

"'cause I don't think you gave it to him."

"Sawyer…" she grit out.

"And even if he found it in the wreck… why in the world would Doctor Do-it-all keep some random key when he didn't even have any lock to pick? It wasn't his suitcase…"

"We dug it from the grave, all right?!" she yelled, finally reaching the end of the rope. Her voice rang terrifyingly clearly in the night air. She stunned herself into silence.

"What?!" Sawyer asked incredulously, leaning forward.

"The key was in the marshal's wallet. I was the prisoner. I told Jack he had weapons in his case, but really, I was after the envelope with my things. I wanted to get rid of the evidence. The marshal is dead. Buried. So we had to dig him up. Jack took the key. That's what happened. Are you happy now?" she spat glaring at him.

He returned her stare unblinkingly, watching her entirely too intently for her liking.

"No," he said.

She closed her eyes groaning inwardly.

"I don't buy it," he stated after a long moment. "This wasn't about something incriminating you. If it was, it would be best for you if it stayed buried. You weren't just worried about someone else opening it. You wanted to open it yourself. Whatever was inside, you _wanted it._ "

She tried hard not to react, fighting a very real urge to hit him. She heard some shuffling so she opened her eyes and saw that he skidded closer and sat right next to her. She stiffened, but otherwise purposely ignored him.

"Now, here is a question," he continued, "what could possibly be so important that you would be willing to fish it out of the bottom of the pond, pry it from under some poor decomposing bastard's seat, fight me for it, lie your ass like a pro to the good doctor and then dig up another dead guy to get the key, all of that without as much as batting an eyelash, huh?"

She gritted her teeth. He wasn't supposed to be so perceptive, dammit.

"Do you want to know what I think?" he asked.

She didn't answer, refusing to even look at him, but knowing that he was going to tell her anyway.

"See, I asked myself if there is anything _I_ got that I would have gone to such lengths to get back? And I came up with only one answer."

She felt herself getting curious despite her wishes, but she still didn't react outwardly, stubbornly staring straight ahead in the space.

"The letter," he said. "Something deeply personal, but shameful. Something that causes you pain, but you can't let go of, because no matter how horrible it is, it became a part of you. Something you both love and hate."

She started shivering, on the verge of another break down, this time much worse. Damn him. Damn Sawyer and his unfair insight. Damn him for digging, for dragging it out and for understanding her so well. Damn him for making it impossible to run.

Suddenly, she felt him lifting her chin and turning her head, forcing her to face him. She looked up defiantly, though her eyes were stinging.

"Am I right?" he asked simply.

She jerked her head back furiously, but he caught her shoulders before she could get up and away from him.

"Get your hands off me!" she hissed.

She struggled against him, but she was so upset that she just trashed uncoordinatedly, her attempts to break free completely ineffective.

"Yes or no?" he insisted.

Her vision blurred as she gripped the fabric of his shirt in both hands until her knuckles turned white.

"Yes," she breathed in broken whisper, all fight suddenly leaving her like the air rushing from a deflating balloon.

It might have been just her mind playing tricks on her, but she thought that the moment she said that, something changed in the way the arms around her held her. Her resolve melted and shudders passed through her body as she shook with soundless sobs. She was powerless to stop them. She rested her forehead against Sawyer's sternum.

"Shhh…" she heard and for a second she wasn't sure if he meant to calm her, or just remind her that she needed to keep it down. Then she felt his open palm on her back, moving up and down in slow, rhythmic motion. This time there was no way she was imagining things. He really was trying to sooth her.

She pressed her lips together and held her breath concentrating hard on getting herself back under control, but her effort was ruined by a soft spoken command: "Let go."

She exhaled loudly, her focus shattered.

"C'mon, you don't have to do this. I'm not gonna laugh at you," he said. "Let it go."

She stubbornly fought against her own shuddering body for several more seconds, before she finally lost it and collapsed against him. She squeezed her eyes shut when the tears streamed down the bridge of her nose, dripping on his chest. One of his hands went to the back of her head and burrowed in her hair. This time, she didn't mind the proximity. It no longer felt like he was trapping her, but rather anchoring her.

It took several long minutes before her tears ran out and her breathing started to even out on its own. He kept quiet the whole time – something she wouldn't have thought he was capable of.

"Why are you doing this?" she sighed.

"What?"

"Why are you being… nice."

She knew there was a good chance that he was comforting her just to get into her good graces – to one up Jack, to worm his way into her bed – but some small part of her (the part that cared, against her better judgment) didn't believe that was the case. She hoped not.

There was something uncharacteristically kind and genuine about him tonight – some sort of understanding and compassion she didn't think could be faked. Nothing was ever simple with Sawyer, but she knew that she was the one person on the island he chose to give a modicum of trust on the account of the connection he felt they shared.

She pulled back slightly to take a look at him. His brows were drawn together as he looked down at her, a knowing glint in his eye.

"Because no one should feel like this," he said.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, before she gave in again and rested her head against his chest, shutting the world out by closing her eyes. This time she let go of his shirt, wrapping her arms around his torso instead. The steady beat of his heart under her ear had a calming effect on her.

"I really am a criminal, you know," she said.

"Like I care," he scoffed.

That was… new.

"You don't?"

"Whatever you did, I'm pretty sure I did worse, Bonnie Parker."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she muttered. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the embrace and all the yelling, whispering and crying. Whatever it was about this starry, tropical night, made her let the words flow freely, as if it wasn't her most guarded secret: "Have you murdered your father?"

The seconds ticked off painfully slow and with each next one with him staying quiet she grew more tense, realizing what she'd just done and how much of a mistake it could prove to be -

 _… but he didn't move, didn't push her away, his arms still around her…_

\- until he spoke gruffly: "Have you killed an innocent man?"

She looked up surprised, meeting his eyes for the first time since she spilled her secret: they were dark and tortured, full of pain and self-loathing.

"I don't believe that," she said simply. "You didn't."

He was doing this again. This thing when he was purposely leading her on the wrong trail, trying to make her think the worst of him. She wasn't going to let him fool her so easily this time. He was a man of numerous flaws, but she couldn't imagine him a psychopathic murderer or a hit-man.

Then again – appearances could be deceiving. She, of all people, knew that well. Only in his case it was exactly the appearances, carefully constructed by him, that led everybody to think he was a cynic, unfeeling bastard.

He tilted his head to the side and smiled – a twisted, bitter smile.

"Yet I did," he said. "Pulled out the gun and shot him point blank."

She scrutinized his face intently for a moment.

"There has to be more to the story," she decided finally.

"As, I am sure, there is to yours."

They were staring at each other again, this time challengingly. She could leave it at that. Get up and walk away. He probably wouldn't say anything to anybody – after all, he just gave her as much of leverage on him, as he had on her.

Or she could stay and make another trade, of the most dangerous kind, play the confession game.

"My parents divorced when I was a kid," Kate said quickly, as if afraid that if she didn't hurry, she would lose her nerve. His hand on her back started moving again, encouraging her to continue. "There was… this guy my mom always had a thing for, for reasons I could never understand. He was a sleazy, perpetually drunk, good for nothing leech. He was also abusive."

She saw the corner of Sawyer's eye twitch, but otherwise he didn't react, listening to her intently without a word.

"He moved in pretty quickly," she continued. "Long story short, he made my childhood hell. I was never one for taking things laying down, so over the years I learned to give as good as I got, so he restrained himself to throwing nasty remarks at me. I guess he decided it just wasn't worth the effort. But my mother… she never defended herself. I watched him hurt her over and over. It went on like that for years. I couldn't wait to grow up and get the hell out of there, but when the time came that I could, I realized that I needed to stay for her – because she would never fight back. And then one day…" She paused. Sawyer's hand was stroking her back in steady rhythm. She was getting to the worst part, but she couldn't stop now, once she started. Her heart was beating fast, but she realized that she wasn't afraid. She was in a trance, enchanted. Finally telling someone her side of the story. "I discovered that my dad wasn't really my dad. _He_ was. So…" She took a deep breath to finish her tale in one final sweep. "One night, when my mom was at work and he was passed out drunk at home, I turned on the gas, walked out and blew the house up with him inside. Then I ran. And nothing ever was the same."

She was staring at him very closely, searching his face for the signs of shock, disgust or pity, when she said that. His eyes were dark in the poor light, almost black with a hint of indigo, and they held nothing but the same pain hers did.

She braced herself for questions, but the only one that came was: "So that thing in the case – does it have something to do with that?"

She gulped and closed her eyes again in shame. Ironically, she felt much guiltier about Tom's death than Wayne's, though the former was more of an accident, while the latter had all qualities of a planned murder.

"In a way," she'd told Sawyer so much already that it wouldn't really make a difference if he knew about that too. She concentrated on the feel of his hand on her back. "It belonged to someone very dear to me. My childhood friend, first love… take your pick." This was hard. Harder than she thought. For some reason, she had to fight the urge to burrow her face in his shirt once more. "He was a doctor. When my mom got sick, I asked him to help me get to meet her. I wanted to see her before… anyway, it backfired. Cops showed up and…" Kate trailed off again and the pause stretched even longer than before. She opened her eyes, but instead of facing Sawyer kept her gaze trained on the spot at the base of his neck, where his collarbones met. "I got him killed," she confessed, her voice harsh. "I loved him, and I got him killed. Could have as well put the bullet in him myself. Didn't even stop to make sure that there was no way to revive him – I just run." She felt the telltale burn under her lids, so she abruptly said before she had a chance to start crying again: "Your turn."

This, finally, made his hand stop moving. She looked up quickly, wanting to see him when he told her.

His story was much shorter than hers:

"I got the wrong guy," he said simply, keeping eye-contact, and for a moment she thought he would stop there, but there must have been something in her expression that made him reconsider, because after a beat he opened him mouth again and added: "I thought he was… _I was led to believe_ that he was the man who ruined my life." His lips twisted in a grim smile. She didn't even have to ask who he was talking about. She already knew enough of his story to guess he'd been chasing the man responsible for his parents' gruesome deaths. She was surprised by the rush of hostility she felt at the thought of someone stooping so low that they would use that piece of information, use _him_ this way as a mean to their own ends. "Sadly, it turned out that I was deliberately misinformed. The guy wasn't the one I've been looking for. He was just some poor bastard who owed money to the wrong person. It wasn't until it was too late that I realized my mistake. He didn't even get to say a word before I put a bullet in him. Only then – then he told me. And then he died," he finished almost as if he was trying to make it sound funny, a punch in a joke.

She swallowed. He was still smiling that terrible, mirthless smile. She knew well the all-consuming feeling of guilt about something that can't be undone, constantly eating at you, like poison spreading through your veins and as she looked at the scarred man in front of her and remembered all the ways he was coming up with to make everybody hate him and how he had goaded Sayid into torturing him for something he hadn't even done, she couldn't help but think that he was punishing himself – and that, was not something a man without conscience would do. He could hide behind his attitude, briskness and sarcastic comments all day long, but here, in the dead of the night, between the two of them, it was impossible not to notice the way regret was driving him mad.

"When was that?" she asked all of a sudden, following a hunch.

"Excuse me?"

"When did that happen?"

He shrugged, obviously not expecting the question.

"About a week before the crash, why?" he asked.

She felt her heart ache for him, when suddenly everything she knew about him made so much more sense, most of all his self-destructive streak.

She wanted to do something for him, even if only a small gesture, the way he had calmed her by stroking her back. Impulsively, she reached up with her hand and touched his cheek. He was so unprepared for any kind of gentle touch that he actually flinched at first.

"I'm sorry," Kate said.

He snorted humorlessly.

"What for? I tell you that I killed an innocent guy and you feel sorry for me? Why?"

She looked deep into his eyes and echoed his words from before:

"Because," she said, "No-one should feel like this."

There was a moment, suspended in time, when he was just looking down on her, his lips parted, and her breath hitched. And then his mouth descended on hers with the same inevitability as the ocean's waves crash at the shore, gravity pulls a falling rock to the earth, the night follows the day.

This kiss was everything the first one wasn't: trust, compassion and intimacy. This wasn't about power, a battle of wills or even that basic lust that comes with the undeniable, primal attraction. This was about comfort, longing and raw emotions. It flashed through Kate's mind that this was perhaps the closest either of them would ever come to the feel to absolution.

 _If not absolution, then at least acceptance_ , she thought. _If not acceptance, then understanding._

Also, it didn't hurt that he was one hell of a kisser.

"Sawyer…" she sighed regretfully, letting go of him.

Something flashed in his eyes, too brief for her to make it out, and then suddenly the spell was broken.

It was probably the fact that she pulled away first, however slowly, yet firmly, that caused him to bounce back so quickly – whatever the reason might have been, she didn't see it coming when he struck:

"So, is that why you got hots for Jackass?" he drawled. "Because he's your wished-upon-a-star second chance? Or do you just have a thing for doctors?"

She slapped him. Hard.

He smirked.

"I see you're developing a habit," he said coolly. "At least my hands are not tied this time."

It took her about two seconds to push him away and scramble to her feet. It stung that he could use her freshly revealed secret against her as a weapon, even without telling it to anyone, not to mention that his comment hit unsettlingly close to home.

( _Later, in the stark light of the tropical sun, next to the home-made raft resting on the beach, on the eve of its maiden voyage, she would wonder and dread how far would he go? if he would tell them all her secrets, shout the ugly truth for all of them to hear? Or was there a line he wouldn't cross?_ )

"Go to hell, Sawyer," she hissed angrily. "You think I don't know that you're doing? It's too late to hide now!"

She could spot a defensive mechanism when she saw one, but it didn't mean that his words didn't hurt. It was pretty obvious once you figured it out, the way he operated: don't let anyone close enough to touch you. Make the first move. Hit before they get a chance to hit you. Nothing good ever lasts, so destroy it yourself to avoid getting blindsided. If you do that, at least you stay in control.

 _Don't you feel sorry for me_.

But she had _seen_ him. He was still there, _right there_ , the man who had followed her into the jungle to make sure she would be fine and listened to her without judgment, the man perfectly capable of human emotions and empathy. She had intuited it from the start, recognizing it the same way he had recognized her as one of his own kind, but now she knew for sure. He had _let_ her catch a glimpse of something real, but then immediately pushed her away, like he had done after he had told her the truth about his past and the letter. He'd build a nice, prickly shell for himself, one he didn't like to shred. What she'd found inside it was raw and broken, perhaps beyond repair, but it certainly wasn't empty.

"Guess I could always run instead – but that's more your style, isn't it, Freckles?"

She shot him an irritated look and pressed her lips together to keep herself from snapping something back and risking getting pulled into his game. Instead, she turned on her heel and started marching back toward the camp.

"Proving my point?" he called after her.

She grit her teeth so hard she was surprised they didn't crack.

He picked himself up from the ground and lazily brushed the dirt from his pants before following her like a highly-annoying, overgrown shadow. It was hard to reconcile the self-satisfied, unsympathetic smart-ass trotting behind her with the tortured soul that inhabited him.

 _I'm a complex guy, sweetheart_.

Her lips were still swollen from the kiss. Her hand was still tingling from the slap. Her blood was raging… yeah, that was an interesting one. Which emotion was it, that was still making her blood run faster?

In a way, she was glad that he gave her a reason to pull away. She didn't know how to deal with the intensity of the moment, but he solved the dilemma for her, making it easy to walk away. She just wished he'd chosen a nicer way to change the mood.

"You can stop following me now," she told him. "I'm going back to the beach, I'm not getting myself eaten by monsters, if that's still your excuse for harassing me."

"Nice try, but that only means that we're going the same way, poptart," he said, somewhat amused.

"…unless you're trailing me because _you're_ afraid you'll get lost?"

"Aaah, that's better. See? You're learning. A few more weeks in my company, and your comebacks will be almost as good as…"

"Shut up, Sawyer."

"Now, you're disappointing me. 'Shut up'? Really? Is that all you got? Besides, you've already used this one."

"You can also go fly a kite!"

"… and my sense of direction is just fine, thank you very much. The fact that I can't read _mud_ doesn't mean that I don't know which way I came from…"

Kate sighed internally. Here was a man who always had to have the last word.

Despite her clear displeasure at the fact, he walked her all the way back, not only to the edge of the beach (mostly empty by then), but to the imaginary threshold of her tent. She stopped at flap and turned around, blocking the entrance.

"Goodnight," she said curtly, hoping her tone would be a hint enough for him not to test her any further.

"What, you're not gonna invite me in?" he asked in mock-surprised voice.

 _Of course_.

"In your dreams."

"As a matter of fact…" he leered.

He saw the punch coming and hedged just in time, looking completely unperturbed by the whole action.

He was still standing there.

"Aren't you going to your own tent?"

He shrugged.

"Nah. I'm not tired yet. I think I'll go for a swim."

She shifted uneasily, not wanting to show the faint pang of worry, but unable to stop herself from voicing her concerns:

"After dark?" she asked. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why not?"

"Remember Joanna? What if you get caught up in a current? No-one's going to see if you're in trouble."

It irked her how smug he immediately looked at her apparent concern for him.

"Careful, or I'm going to think that you're worried about me."

"Well, just because I want to strangle you, doesn't mean I want you to drown."

And just like that, his dimples were back.

"I'll make sure to save my airways for you, then," he said, his eyes dancing. "Goodnight, Freckles."

There was a split second of hesitation and then he leaned forward, quick as a snake, and brushed his knuckles against her cheek in – what was that? An apology? A tease? – before turning on his heel and walking away.

She blinked slowly. Could this man get any more confusing?

Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind and she called after him: "Hey, stranger!"

He was already a few steps away, but he looked questioningly over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I didn't catch your name."

She was pushing her luck and she knew that, but she had to try. She held her breath. She wasn't sure why it was so important whether or not he was going to tell her, but it was.

He was quiet for a moment, just looking at her in the moonlight and she wasn't sure if he was going to answer at all.

"James," he said finally, and for some unknown reason her heart skipped a beat. "My name is James."

"Nice to meet you, James," she whispered.

And – despite everything – it really was.

* * *

 **Though I'm not really counting on that, I'd be delighted to hear from you if there are any readers left.**


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